Disclaimer: Still have nothing.
The send-off was nothing like any of her other children's. When any other family member left, there was a huge party. At Bill's going away party everyone cried, though that could have been because Fred and George put onion gas in their converted muggle-air conditioner (They couldn't afford a WizAir, and Authur insisted this was just as good). But there was a party, and food, and family, and a general sense of goodwill. There was sadness, but everyone knew it was all a part of "A man's journey" (Ron hadn't really been listening to his father's speech) and they were all very, very happy for him.
When Ron left, no one knew. He stole away in the night, like some common criminal, some common HOMOSEXUAL criminal, while his mother and father lay awake talking about what they were going to do with him and his 'predicament'. Ron left a loving note on the table, trying to recall the speeches made earlier at his brother's leavings. He let them know he would be safe, and he left the number of his room at the Leaky Cauldron in case they wanted to check up on him for the first few days. They never came. Trying to get out and live his own life was tough enough with no support from his family, and it cut so deeply that they didn't seem to care. The Weasley's had always been a loving family, on that he knew some people envied. So how was it so hard to come to terms with something Ron was okay with?
But Ron had to push his brooding aside, which was not something he did well. But there were bigger issues at hand. Ron needed a job.
So every morning he would plaster a fake smile that tried to be sincere upon his face and set out, asking for rejection over and over again. One morning his attitude was so bad he tried to charm himself a newer, better attitude, but he ended up having to spend the day crumpled next to his bed in his rented room, doubled over in laughter. But it was pretty funny-here he was, the Ronald Weasley that he knew he would get to be someday. He had finally found something that set him apart from the rest of his family, different from the funny siblings, the cool one, the studious one, and the driven one. But his special mark had gotten him kicked out of the house! And the two people he knew he could count on he refused to ask for help- Harry, because that boy had enough to worry about without Ron weeping over his pathetic life, and Hermione was busy becoming the youngest Arithmency teacher in the history of Hogwarts. But the biggest reason was the one Ron wouldn't admit to himself- he was scared. It was probably just the charm taking effect, but for those few hours Ron laughed and chortled and giggled over himself and what he had gotten himself into harder than he had ever laughed at anything. And as masochistic as the laughter was, it felt good. It was needed, and it was something that he had sorely missed in his life over the past few weeks.
The next day Ron set out with an actual smile on his face, and got the job. He had found his niche. Ronald Weasley was the new (secretly gay) bartender at the Hogsmeade Inn. And it was a good job, one he took pride in. He heard stories, told his own, made up a few. He would watch people's emotions and demeanors change as they put good food, good drink in his belly. A few times, when he was in a bad mood because he had been thinking too much, he got to fight the drunkards he was told to take outside. They may not have been fair but they were fun, and they did so much to relieve stress. The Innkeeper loved him so much he was offered a small apartment above the bar, so he could work every night. Ron gladly accepted.
He even got to flirt, and he got very, very good at it. Of course, the Inn was a respectable place that you simply weren't gay in, so all his flirting was with females, but it's the same theory, he told himself as he polished off another newly-dry glass and set it about the bar. He loved the feel of clean glasses, freshly washed and warm. They were so smooth and radiated light heat, warming his whole body as the feeling spread through his palms to the tips of his toes. Ron hoped that skin during sex felt like that: he happily imagined it did. He felt a happy hum in his blood as a grin crept across his face and blood rushed from his head to his penis. His fingers lightly traced patterns around the stems of wineglasses, he shook his bangs out of his eyes with a toss of the head.
"Do you need that taken care of?"
With a gasp Ron dropped the glass, even more blood draining from his face. The glass broke and splintered around his feet, tiny shards catching the light, diffusing it and bathing one of the waitresses in rainbows. She smiled, her lipstick staying bright red and smooth even with the strain of her skin moving, just like it was bewitched to do.
She had been watching Ron for a while. He was one of the initial reasons why she got the job (it was him, and money. Not necessarily in that order.) She had walked in one night, cold, afraid and new, and he radiated warmth and familiarity. He was handsome in that boy nest door way, with a toothy grin, freckles at age twenty plus, and a lanky body with just enough muscle to make you want to look underneath the clothes. Her breath had caught the first moment she saw him- such a contrast to the cruel, outside world! He had no traces of the rain that was pouring outside; perhaps his fiery hair had burned it off. She could imagine a lot of things sizzling on his hot skin.
She promptly asked for an application and interview, and got the job (her huge breasts weren't the curse she thought they were back in primary school). She had been trying to get Ron alone for days, sending hints like leaning over the counter as she gave him drink orders, leaving a few top buttons undone on her shirt. Her face wasn't perfect but she knew she had a nice smile, one she sent over to Ron as often as possible.
She had even played the damsel in distress, letting one drunk customer get a little too friendly and grab a little too much before Ron came in, hauled the man off, and broke the man's lecherous fingers outside. She was sure Ron liked her, or else that amount of violence wouldn't have been necessary. (She didn't know that the day of that incident was the eight-month anniversary of his moving out, which meant 8 months without family or real friends.)
The ball was in her court. All she had to do was play the seduction game. So that night she put more make-up than usual on, donned her sexiest, tightest, shortest, and most revealing outfit and sauntered onto the bar after hours. She knew Ron would be either in the bar or his room, and she couldn't have been happier to find him the way he was. Sauntering up, she pressed her breasts against his chest nonchalantly and put her fingers through his hair. "I can give you a trim, if you want," she whispered in his ear, making sure to breathe more than usual. As one hand rummaged through his hair another was exploring his back, kneading the muscles that were so bunched up.
Ron was frozen. Trying to regain his composure, he stepped back, cleared his throat and laughed. "Scared me, you did. I jumped like a tiny girl, dropping and breaking a glass." He leaned down to cast a spell to fix it, and catch himself. It was just flirting. He could flirt. He did it all day, every day. It was as much a part of his job as pouring drinks. He could do it.
He looked up and his eyes traveled over sleek, shaven leg for far too long. Ron's mind gulped for him, and Ron prayed to God, Dumbledore, anyone that he would get out of this okay. The girl bent down, making sure to have her breasts pile out of her dress and into Ron's face, and picked up the glass. "Here, let me help you. We don't want your strong hands breaking it again." Ron laughed, more nervous than he had been while flirting with girls than he was back in his first few years at Hogwarts. There was a reason why he did it as little as possible back then. The same feelings were creeping back in- nervousness, a want to crawl somewhere and assume the fetal position, and the new uneasiness and slight disgust at the prospect. This wasn't flirting, flirting was fun, carefree, a simple nothing. This was something else entirely.
She saw the fear in his eyes and mistook it for fear of not controlling himself. She was sure there was lust mixed in there as well. Giving herself the extra burst she needed, she stood on her toes to put the glass back in it's cabinet. And then, making sure he was close to her, she pushed off, propelling herself into his open arms. With a gasp, they were on the ground, a tangle of bodies. Seizing the opportunity, she rolled on top of him, squished into him, and purred,
"I'm so clumsy." Ron gaped. He didn't know what to do, or think. In just a few minutes, or was it even seconds, the nice hum in his blood and the bounce in his step was replaced with disgust. Even if she wasn't a girl, it was so wrong to just throw yourself out there like that. She should at least have some dignity, enough common sense to know this type of behavior couldn't usually work on anyone. And as she flipped her hair back, making sure the feeble light caught the strands of luscious brown, she leaned in and captured his lips.
It was the worst kiss Ron had ever been through. She was sucking, pulling, pushing, all at the same time. As she bit his bottom lip and pulled back, Ron moaned in pain.
Hearing his moan, she knew he was enjoying himself. Looking down, ready to see blue eyes hazy with lust, ready to feel those lean hips grinding into her, she was surprised to see a look of pity on his face. And it hit her. He had just been standing there, laying there, allowing her to have her way until there was a moment to stop. And stop he did. Lightly pushing her body off him, Ron sat up and told her in a quiet voice,
"We need to talk."
